Scars on Our Hearts
by theater104
Summary: WRITTEN BY INK. She built a bed out of newspapers, and he built a kingdom. These unlikely lovers will learn that sometimes, pain isn't physical and that kind of pain leaves scars impossible to heal.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! A few things you need to know before you read this story.**

**I am not Vi, I am her friend whom she is posing this for. Not going to tell you my real name, but you can call me Ink.**

**I will update about once a week, but I don't have a set time. It all really depends on when Vi can post and when I can write. I am really busy as I am taking advanced classes and my soccer season starts soon. I am a dedicated writer, and I strive to write everyday. This doesn't always happen. Deal with it.**

**I don't know the geography of New York and some things may not be accurate to the time.**

**I don't own Newsies.**

**Thank you for reading and please take the time to review.**

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><p>The day it started was a day like any other. It was cold, and the wind blew through my thin clothes, leaving me chilled to the bone. I barely noticed. I had been living in the cold for a while now, and this wind was nothing compared to the icy darkness of my heart. I wrapped some newspapers around me in a vain attempt to warm my self. The thin paper did little but stain my skin with its ink and direct a few looks of pity from passerby. The wind blew again, lifting my makeshift blanket from my shoulders. I didn't reach out to catch it as it blew away in the wind. After all, what good could a few sheets of paper do? The papers were old anyway, torn and wet ones that the newsies couldn't sell, so they just left them there to rot. Their faded black ink told of stories that had occurred months ago. The date on the one remaining one I had wrapped around my shoulders told me that it was from three months ago, the day I was thrown out onto the cold, unforgiving streets. Shoved out the front door of the orphanage, turned away by those who were supposed to help. Turned away because no one wants the Irish. Turned away because no one wants me.<p>

I lean my head up against the brick wall of the alley. I close my eyes and pretend I am back home in Ireland, poor as dirt but there is still a fire in the fireplace and laughter filling the room. I can still see my mother as clear as day, even though the last time I saw her was four years ago, and then her skin was pale and her eyes lost. But in this picture forming in my mind she was as she had been back in Ireland, before the trip across the seas had broke her. Her auburn hair fell down her back in gentle waves, and her smile lit up the whole room. To her right, sat my father, green eyes shining as he told us the story of Christmas. On my right, sat my little brother, young and eager, on the edge of his seat as father told of how Father Christmas came down the chimney. I broke myself out of the trance because it simply hurt too much to imagine my family happy like that. Alive like that.

I stood up, hoping that moving would warm me up a little bit at least. I walked a bit to stretch out my sore muscles, and once I was sure I wouldn't injure myself, I broke out into a run. I ran, ran away from my demons and my past. I ran away from Queens, and all the pain it has brought me. My boots slapped on the ground, the soles barely there, and my feet stung from the impact. I could feel the cold sidewalk beneath my feet. Frozen tears fell down my face. I was a beautiful disaster.

I never wanted to leave Ireland. Leaving ment being on a boat to a land where I would be shunned. A land where I didn't belong. In the soup kitchen line, I was the only one whose hair was a fiery mess. In the soup kitchen line, I was the only one whose words had a significant Irish sound. In the soup kitchen line, I was the only one who didn't consider myself an American.

That was one thing that confused me. Why on earth would these people who America had done nothing for call it home? Didn't they ever feel like a stranger in this place? Don't they know that America doesn't want them?

While I was musing about the unfairness of life in America, I noticed that I was now halfway to Manhattan. Sometime during my internal ramble, I had crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge, and slipped through Brooklyn unseen.

I turned my back, looking at the streets my mother had promised would be my home. Scoffing, I looked back towards Manhattan, towards my future. All Queens had brought me was pain. Staring at the empty streets littered with trash and dirt, I wondered how my life had ended up this horrible. One things for sure, Queens was never my home. Ireland was my home. I can't go back there, so I have to make myself a life here. From now on, I am not the broken girl hiding in the alley. From now on I am not the girl diving threw trash bins for scraps of food. From now on I am strong. From now on I am brave. From now one I am anything but weak. From now on, the ghosts of my past won't haunt me. From now on, I was no longer Mary O'Brien, poor Irish girl. From now on, I am free.

I am a fiery mess, and when you mess with fire you are going to get burned.

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><p><strong>Hey, Vi here! So this was written by my fansie friend, Ink. She cannot have an account of her own, but we have decided that she can post on mine when she wants to. So if the story is hers, it will be clearly marked. Thanks! Newsies forever, second to none!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! Thank you to ****Newsgoil19 and K Kelly for their reviews. They mean a lot to me. Stuff in Italics are flashbacks and as you probably have guessed, I don't own Newsies. **

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><p>I am not a fool. I know about the things they say behind my back. I know about the rumors, and the whispering that stops as soon as I enter a room. I know that people despise me. No, they don't actually despise me. They despise my power. The despise that fact that such a young boy could rule Brooklyn. They despise the fact that I am better than them. They despise who I am, but not me. Fun fact: I don't care. With power and respect, comes enemies. It's a fact. They think that I don't know what they say behind my back, but my birds are everywhere. I am everywhere. No one dares mess with Spot Conlon, not as long as he has Brooklyn.<p>

" Oi, Spot, whata youse doing?" A boy said as I stormed past him through the lodging house.

" Nuttin. Go away." I said as I scowled at him. He backed off, and returned to the poker game he was playing. I stormed up the stairs, my face twisted into a scowl. Three other boys approached me, but one glance at them with my signature glare they backed away. The corners of my mouth twisted up into a smirk, knowing that these boys were afraid of me. I took a key from my pocket and unlocked the door to my room. Being king, I claimed a room that had formerly been a storage room in the warehouse turned lodging home.

I slammed the door behind me, and flopped on to the bed. I immediately jumped back up, having landed on a spring.

" God damn bed!" I grunted. I rubbed the spot on my back where the spring had hit. I knew without seeing it that the spring had hit a scar. I unbuttoned my plaid shirt and threw it onto the bed. I slowly raised my arms over my head, removing my faded white undershirt. I looked in the broken mirror. " Bad luck.." I thought before I could stop myself. After all, I am Spot Conlon. I am invincible.

I peered through the cracks that distorted my body to see my chest, still covered in angry red scars. I ran my finger along one of the longer ones, a dark red slash from a knife. I winced a little at the feeling of my cool finger brushing my skin, and without meaning to, I thought of how I got this scar.

_It was a cold winter day, and I blew on my hands to keep warm, as I raised my voice above the howl of the wind. _

_" Automobiles race held yesterday! Is this the sport of the future?" I yelled, hoping someone would hear me and buy the paper from me so I could go home. I only had seven papes left in my hands, and I was desperate to get rid of them. A man shuffled over and pressed a penny into my hand. I could barely make out his face behind all of the layers of scarves he wore around his neck. I pulled on my own thin scarf tighter around my neck, hoping that it would at least protect against some of the wind. _

_" __Hey look what wes got here!" I turned my head to a tall teenaged boy whose eyes glimmered dangerously. Two other boys with the same look in their eye appeared at his side. I blinked, wondering where they had come from. " A little newsie, tryin to sell the last of his papes?" I nodded, hoping they would leave me alone. The first boy, the one I assumed was the leader, stepped closer to me. His fingers curled around the collar of my shirt, lifting me off my feet. I stared directly into his malice filled eyes. I knew from past experience that if you showed you weren't afraid they might leave you alone. " Your on our turf." He said, tightening his grip on my neck. _

_" __So?" I said, more confidently than I felt. " whats it to you?" I could tell immediately that that was the wrong thing to say. _

_" __We don't like other newsies selling on our turf.." He said threateningly. He slid a knife from his pocket and…_

I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. That first fight with the then ruler of Brooklyn was the worst I had ever fought. I was a underprepared, weak and small little boy, who thought that selling in Brooklyn with out permission was a good idea. All it had left me with was a painful scar, bad memories and a reason never to come to Brooklyn again. But I was a cocky little kid, and I thought that deserved to sell my papes in Brooklyn. So I trained and trained, and picked fights with boys twice my size, just to see if I could beat them. I could. So two years later, I returned to Brooklyn, head held high and slingshot in my pocket. I bought my papes and began selling them, only to find the same boys surround me. Only this time, Instead of being scared, I smirked at them. I fought them, killed them, and took over. Much like our old friend Joe Pulitzer, I then created the world. Only my world wasn't a paper, but a group of those who sold his. So yeah, I have heard the rumors about me, but I don't give a damn about what they think of me. because just like Pulitzer, I am feared. I am respected. I don't need friends or for everyone to like me. I am Spot Conlon, and Spot Conon doesn't need those things. He is invincible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay, Chapter 3 is finally done! Sorry it took so long, math is really piling up now. On the bright side, I got a A on my test! Please review, they make my day. As always, I don't own Newsies.**

Ok, so maybe Manhattan wasn't so much better than Queens… I have been wander around the same block for what feels like hours, trying to find a remotely cozy place to curl up with my newspaper blankets and sleep. Every time I found a good spot, I would sit down for only a moment before some street rat would come and chase me away. I had been walking for hours, and my feet stung from having been slapped against the ground so many times. I sighed. This was harder than I thought.

Finally, I found myself a seat on a dark stoop, hidden between two much taller buildings that seemed to tower over the building. A small awning prevented the elements from reaching the cool concrete stoop. I slowly lowered myself until I was rested on the icy cold stoop. When after a few minutes I was not violently shoved off my perch, I curled up to the splintered wood wall. My eyes fluttered shut and before long I fell into a fitful sleep.

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><p>Darkness swirled around me. Shadows danced and fluttered around my feet. The moans of tortured souls filled my ears like some sort of twisted music. I walked on, through the masses of damned souls begging to be freed. The shadows became solid, only for a second, but long enough so I could see the faces of the tortured souls, their pained expressions frozen permanently on their faces. More and more appeared and their faces blurred together as I spun in circles.<p>

" Get up, hey goil, get up!" They screamed. The spinning stopped. I froze, confused. Normally they asked me to stay, never leave them again. Their panicked eyes stared at me for one last second before I turn, and spiralled into reality.

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><p>" Goil, get up, get up goil!" I slowly opened my eyes to see a boy with curly dark brown hair tucked inside a newsboys cap. The sun seemed to frame his face, and if I squinted I could make out the shape of another boy behind him. " Oh good, youse up. We heard youse screaming and came down to see what was the matter." I rubbed the back of my neck, which ached from being in this position for so long. I pushed myself of the pavement, bringing myself to my feet. I ran my fingers through my hair nervously.<p>

" Sorry 'bout sleeping on your porch." I replied, embarrassed that someone had seen me like that.

" You don't need to apologize. We all have slept on someones porch at some point" The boy behind the curly haired one said. I leaned around the curly haired boy's shoulder to see a sandy haired boy leaning on a crutch. His smile lit up his whole face and made me want to smile too.

" Yeah, well thanks for letting me use your porch. I gotta go find some place to work." I said turning away.

" Hey kid, what if I said we could get youse a job?" I turned back to Curly, my shock evident on my face.

" I'd say youse crazy." I said, wondering when I had gotten a New York accent.

" How do youse feel 'bout being a newsie?" Curly asked. "Youse could stay here at the lodging house provided youse got money for the rent." I stared at him, gesturing to the ground where I had spent the night. " It's cheap. 12 cents a week. " I finger the 20 cents i had in my pocket for food. " Come on kid, it's better than these rotten streets." He looked at the mud on the streets like he would rather be anywhere but there.

" Fine." I said. Crutch grinned. He limped over to me, threw his other arm over my shoulder and lead me inside.

" Come on, little brother, lets get youse a bed." Crutch said cheerfully. I froze. Did he really think I was a boy? I looked down to see that I was where clothes that had at one point been my brother's, and they hung off me, covering any- er, feminine parts. I looked up at the sign. The word boy stuck out, written in peeling gold paint. The only way to survive here was to be a boy. I nodded. I am no longer Mary. I am no longer broken. " I am Crutchie, and dis here is Jack." Crutchie said pointing to the curly haired boy. " Say, those clothes are a little big, why don't youse trade with one of the younger boys who is growing out of theirs?" I nodded again, eager to get rid of this part of my past. " Say youse got a name?" I thought about that. I am a fiery mess, and I need a name that say it.

" Ashes." I said finally. " 'Cause if someone messes with me thats all that will be left of them." Jack let out a laugh, almost like he was doubting that that was why that was my name. " Youse think its funny do ya?" I said clenching my fist. If I was going to survive, I would half to be tough. Crutchie looked nervous. " Whateva. Crutchie, what do youse say 'bout gettin me some of those clothes. He scrambled up the stairs, yelled for a boy named Romeo, then came back down, holding a outfit in his arms. " Thanks. Wheres the bathroom?" Crutchie pointed wordlessly upstairs. I sprinted up the stair and through a bunk room, dodging bunk full of sleeping boys. I crept into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind me. Time to become Ashes.

I stared at myself in the dusty mirror, before slipping out of my clothes. I searched in a cabinet for a bandage I could use to bind my chest. Finding one, I wrapped it around my chest then quickly pulled my shirt on. buttoning it with one hand, I used the other hand to wash my face. I pulled on the rest of my clothes and stared at myself in the mirror. This was what Ashes looked like. I noticed a small curl of hair tucked around my ear, then realized that I would have to cut my hair. I search around for a pair of sheers, eventually finding them stuck between some soap and shaving cream. I chopped off my hair just below my ears, never looking back. I tossed the strands of hair out the window, and turned back towards the mirror. I pulled my hat on my head and turned towards the door. I was Ashes. Mary was dead. I was free.


	4. Chapter 4

**I am so so sorry this took so long! I have had a crappy week. On the bright side, I got to see Corey Cot perform live!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies… Only any OCs I create.**

I marched downstairs like I owned the place, and in a way, I did. For one long moment I stood at the bottom of the stair, taking in my kingdom. Boys sat on every available surface, chatting, talking, gambling. The room smelled of smoke and bad liquor, and for not the first time I was glad we didn't live in a city run lodging house. Technically, it was, but we drove the man who was supposed to take care of us out, so we just collect the small portion of money the city gives us our selves and clean up before a inspection. I looked over at the boys, my boys who would follow me into battle, and smirked. It was good to be king.

I walked over to the table where seven boys tried their luck at cards. Among them was my second, Bullseye, whose dark brown hair stuck out of his cap, and his grey eyes glared at his cards.

" Bad hand, eh Bullseye?" I teased him. He simply shrugged his shoulders, he was used to me teasing him about his non-existent card skills. I plopped down on a empty chair. " Deal me in." The dealer, a tall African American boy by the name of Flyer, handed me a card. I snuck a look. The card in my hand was an Ace. I tapped the table. Flyer slid a card over. I snuck a peek. A ten. I smirked at Bullseye and turned my cards over, showing my perfect twenty one. Bullseye groaned and slid the money in the center to me. I slipped it in my pocket, planning to put it in my jar. Flyer dealt everyone another round, and I called one of the younger boys over. " Hey, kid, can youse get me a cigar?" The boy nodded his head enthusiastically, proud to be serving me.

" Sure thing Spot!" I knocked him on his cap and he ran over to grab a cigar off someone. When he returned, I had already won another round, and was debating weather to tap for another card. he handed the cigar to me wordlessly, and waited for me to light it before heading off.

" Thanks kid!" I yelled to his retreating back, and he turned back towards me and grinned. I smoked the night away, laughing and playing with my friends.

For once, I could pretend I was just another newsie.

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><p>That night, I slipped upstairs before most of the others had gone to bed. I could still hear them through the paper thin walls of my room. I knelt, trying to block out the noise. I reached under my bed, searching for the jar I had hidden there. After feeling around for a bit, I soon wrapped my fingers around the cool glass. I twisted the lid off, slid in my winnings from tonight and quickly twisted the lid back on, shoving it back under my bed. When I reached my hand back, I slid it over a sheet of cool glass. Curious, I grabbed for it and pulled it out from under the bed. It was a photo frame. The only photo that I had ever had taken. I blew on it, trying to remove some of the dust that had piled up over the image. I ran my fingers over the smooth glass, wondering how I hadn't found this earlier. I stared in awe at the young boy with dimples who had once been me. How innocent, how young, how- free. It felt like he was a different boy. I looked to his shoulder, where a hand rested. I found myself staring into the face of my mother. Her eyes were grey in the photo, but in my head they shined as blue as the were in real life. Tiny crinkles in the corners of her eyes reminded me of how much she had smiled. She had raised me by herself, after my father had left her when she was found to be pregnant. We were poor, but happy. I raise my hand to the key around my neck.<p>

" I love you mama." I whispered to the stale air of my lodging house room. I carefully slipped the photo frame back under my bed, and with that, Spot was back. I slipped my clothes off, and slowly fell into bed, careful not to hit any of the springs, and stared up at the cracked ceiling. I could still hear the boys downstairs, laughing and gambling the night away. I envied them. How they were so carefree, able to laugh despite all of their issues. I wondered how they did it. It was the one thing the great Spot Conlon couldn't do. Be truly happy.

But I am Spot Conlon, and I don't need to be happy. All I need is Brooklyn and my boys and I can do anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 already done! Thank heavens for snow days. Anyway, I probably should have been studying, but I have spent 2 hours today, writing, and doing other fansie stuff. I showed my friend the movie today, I spent most of it complaining about Sarah and singing the wrong lyrics. **

**Disclaimer: NEWSIES IS MINE, ALL MINE! Quick, Vi you can have Race ad Romeo! * Wakes up* Cheeze it!**

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><p>I practically skipped down the stairs to meet Jack and Crutchie, all remnants of Mary in my arms. Without my hair I felt so light, so- free. It was something I hadn't felt since I stepped onto that boat in Ireland. I stepped out the door of the Lodging House, ready to meet the two boys who had given me a new purpose. They were talking quietly as I stepped up to them.<p>

" Hey guys, so whats this job youse told me 'bout?" I figured talking in a New York accent was a good idea as all the boy I heard cursing about having to get up early used one. Jack quickly slipped something back in his pocket.

" Uh, well, wes newsies." Jack said, tapping his pocket, as if he was making sure something was in there. I stared at him blankly. " Hows can you not know what a newsie is?" I glared at him.

" We sell papes." Crutchie supplied. I nodded my head. I could do that. Scream headlines, tell a few lies. Easy.

" When and where do we get these papes?" I asked, this time directed at Crutchie, not Jack.

" Uh, wes got about 10 minutes till the rest of the boys get out here and then wes will go get 'em." He shifted his weight from his leg to his crutch and suddenly I was reminded of my brother, who was always bouncing from one foot to the other. His little face flashed through my mind, but not as it had been when I last saw him, gaunt and tired, but as it had been back when we were happy. He smiled at me, winked, and then he was gone and in his place stood Crutchie, who was laughing and joking with Jack. I blinked, hoping that when I opened my eyes again Seth would be there, smiling at me with those dimples of his. No such luck. All I see when I open my eyes is Crutchie and Jack, looking at me like I belong in a madhouse.

" Whatta youse looking at?" I say sharply. The averted their eyes quickly.

" Um.. Ashes? Do youse mind if I take your old clothes… Some of them boys really need 'em.." Jack asked gently. The Mary in me wanted to hold onto them, tell Jack screw those boys, I need them more. The Ashes in me wants to shove them at him, telling him I never want to see them again. I slowly and gingerly handed them to him. His eyes lit up. He raised up the stairs, eager to hand the clothes to some boy whose clothes were probably patched and too small. Me and Crutchie stood there awkwardly as we waited for Jack to get back. I rubbed my toe in the dust, not knowing how to start a conversation. Early Crutchie had seemed really talkative and cheery, but I guess my staring into space had scared him. I was about to open my mouth, tell him that I didn't mean to scare him, but then Jack came back. Only, he wasn't alone. About twenty teenage boys ran out of the building, jumping around and whooping. They knocked each others caps and slapped each others backs as they walked down the street. I stood, frozen on the worn step, left behind by the crowd again.

" Hey, Ashes, youse coming?" Jack called back to me. I grinned. This time, I would not be left behind. I wouldn't let myself ruin this for me. I leaped off the stoop like the other boys had done and jogged to catch up.

" Hey, uh Jack, ain't youse gonna introduce me?" I teased as Jack turned to say hi.

" Oh uh, dis is Mush, Specs, Racetrack and Romeo." He said pointing to the boys closest to him. " And boys, this is Ashes. He will be living with us from now on." The boys all nodded at me, some of them spitting in their hands then reaching out to shake mine. I gingerly shook their hands, not minding the spit. I had seen worse. Other boys crowded around and stuck their hands out. The introduced themselves, but the names blurred together and my eyes glazed over. Lucky, Jack was there to rescue me from them. He lead me towards the distribution center, talking to me about selling papes, and occasionally one of the boys would chime in.

" Youse see, sometimes the headline ain't good, so youse got to make one up." Jack explained. I nodded. I knew that. I was good at lying.

" And sometimes you gotta use your natural charm." A boy whose name I remember was Romeo chimed in. I let out a laugh as he wiggled his eyebrows at a

upper class woman across the street.

" Now I get whys they call youse Romeo!" I said, hitting him on his cap lightly. He rubbed his head.

" Aw, they just like playing hard to get!" Romeo complained. The boy with the cigar slapped Romeo on the back.

" Sure, Romeo." He teased. " Ashes has only been here for a hour and he already knows you ain't that good with goils!" Romeo scowled.

" Actually, Ise have been here for 'bout a day. Ise slept on the porch last night." I admitted. Romeo was about to respond but Jack cut him off with a loud cry.

" Thats the bell! Lets go carry the banner!" The boys launched into a chorus of "Carrying the banners!" and loud whoops, and this time, I joined in. I almost felt like I had a family again. Almost.


	6. Chapter 6

**So sorry this took so long, I got sick and am currently drowning in make up work. I rewrote this four times and still am not in love with it but oh well. Please review, It makes my day!**

**Newsgoil19- Thank you for always reviewing, it makes my day! And Corey Cott in Gigi was amazing! (But its Corey Cott so what do you expect) **

**Disclaimer: Newsies is closed. If I owned it, would I have done that? **

" Spot, Spot, Spot! Goddamnit Conlon! Open the door!" My eyes fluttered open, and I slipped my feet out of bed. I stepped across the floor, careful not to step on anything. I opened the door, only to find Bullseye standing there with his arms crossed over his bare chest.

" Whatta youse doing?" I mumbled.

" The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and there's a good headline."he said in a overly chipper voice.

" The sky is grey, it's rainin' and the headline probably sucks." I retaliated, about to slam the door in his face. He stuck his foot in the door right before it slammed shut.

" Just git up, there is papes to sell." He said, removing his foot from the door. I slammed it in his face and leaned against splintered wood. I sighed and pushed myself away from the door. I grabbed around for my shirt, finding it tucked under the edge of my threadbare sheet.

" How the hell did this git here?" I mumbled. I tossed it back on my bed and grabbed my pants. I slipped into them, grabbing my thin red tank from the floor. I slipped the worn button down on top, snuck a look in the cracked mirror, and slid the door open.

I strutted down the hall, smirk on my face. Boys rushed around, joking and getting ready for the day. A ball of fabric hit me in the head as I walked passed a doorframe that lead to one of the bunk rooms. I grabbed it.

" Hey Spot, give that here, would ya?" A boy leaning off a top bunk called.

" Sure thing Joker. Just don't let Bullseye git it back, ya hear me?" Joker nodded solemnly and tossed it to another boy a bunk over. " SPOT!" Bullseyes outraged cry filled the room. " I'll soak ya! Give me my shirt!" I smirked at his outraged expression.

" Youse wake me up, youse lose a shirt. Fair's fair." I shrugged my shoulders. He glared at me and snatched his shirt from Joker who had been playing catch with it. He slipped it on and turned towards the door. he exited the room before turning back and grinning at me.

" Youse coming or what?" He turned away and stomped down the stairs. I turned back to the rest of the newsies.

" Hey Brooklyn, whatta youse waiting for? An invitation? Theres papes to sell!" The boys hollered and jumped off their bunks.

" Don't forget some bums to soak!" A voice from the back of the room called.

" And bums to soak!" I agreed. " Lets go boys." We launched ourselves out of the warehouse we call home and onto the dreary streets of Brooklyn.

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><p>We walked to the distribution office, me in the lead like a general leading his army to war. A smirk was plastered on my face, my arms were crossed, and I walked like I ruled the world. I smirked at a lady passing by, and she ducked her head and giggled nervously. With ladies, fear and attraction go hand in hand. THey all want to fix me, make me less of a bad boy. Less of a player.<p>

Little did they know I can't be fixed. They won't succeed. I don't get why they try.

We shoved our way through the crowded streets to the distribution office, where we waited for them to put the headline up. Some boys got in a argument over something that had happened last night, others sat around with their cigars. I made my way over to Bullseye, who was arguing with one of the younger newsies, a short dark haired boy named Echo.

" It's true! Do youse think Ise would lie to youse?" Bullseye protested. Echo stared at him.

" What is hes telling youse?" I asked Echo.

" He says that them rich folk where those things around their neck so theys can't breathe right." Echo said.

" Youse thinking of those thing rich ladies wear." I told him. " Them neck things are so their mommas can drag them around." I pointed to a little boy whose mother was scolding him, probably for getting to close to one of us street rats.

" Rich folks are weird." Echo decided, watching the boys mother pulled him towards a carriage.

" Yep." Bullseye agreed. " Now Echo, whatta youse say you sell with me today?" Echo immediately brightened up.

"Sure thing Bullseye!" Echo said, nodding enthusiastically. " What about youse Spot?"

" Nah kid, I work alone." I reminded him. " Look, theys putting up a headline."

" Whats it say Spot?" Echo asked, standing on his toes trying to see over the mass of boys pushing their way towards the gates.

" The war again." I answered and started pushing my way through the crowd. I elbowed a few boys and made it to the front of the line, rummaging in my pocket for a quarter. I slapped it on the counter, and took my 50 papes without a word. I had almost made it to the gate when a group of boys circled around me.

" Matches." I said, addressing the boy in the lead.

" Conlon." He mocked me. I gritted my teeth. No one mocks the King of Brooklyn.

" Move it." I said, shoving my way past a boy. They formed a barrier around me. I glared at them. " Move or youse sleep on the street tonight." They scattered, heading to get their papes. " Oh and Matches?" He turned back towards me, smirking. I slugged him in the eye and silently walked through the gates, papes stuffed in my bag.

Thats what happens when you mess with me. You damn well pay.


	7. Chapter 7

**I got my tickets for the touring show! Can't wait! My friend and me watched the movie together, and I later found out that she forced her family to watch it. I have created another fansie. **

**Disclaimer: **

**Me:Newsies Belongs to Ink!**

**Davey: Thats a lie. **

**Me: No it's not, It's just improvin' the truth a little!**

**Davey: she doesn't own it. **

**Me: Damn. **

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><p>" Are youse sure youse don't want my help?" Jack asked again. I sighed and adjusted the strap on my shoulder. Papes were heavy.<p>

" I'm fine Jack." I sighed.

" Are you sure? It's only your first day and-"

" Jack." I snapped. " I get it. I'll be fine."

" Okay." He said, defeated. " Just watch out for the Delanceys!" He called, but I was already out the gate. I tipped my hat to him, and sprinted down the crowded streets. I ran until I was knocked over by a man twice my size.

" Hey, watch where youse goin'!" He shouted over the many languages spoken on the dirty New York street. His bowler hat made him seen ten times taller. He reached in his pocket, pulling out a set of brass knuckles. My eyes widened. His eyes drifted down to my bag, still full of newspapers. " Hey Morris! Wes got ourselves a newsies!" The man turned, scanning the crowd for "Morris". I took this as an opportunity to run. I slammed past a woman carrying her laundry, and dogged a man shouting in Russian. I soon found myself stuck in a alley. I climbed up a fire escape just as Morris and his friend turned into the alley. A sick smirk appeared on both their faces. The one who bumped into me slipped the brass knuckles on. I climbed higher. The only thought running through my mind was escape. Escape, so you don't end up dead. Escape, so you don't end up like your brother. Escape. My boots slapped on the cool metal of the fire escape, sliding a little as I climbed higher, towards the sky. I snapped my head around to see Morris and his buddy starting the long climb up the ladder. I climbed faster, my heart pounding out of my chest.

" Jump boy, Jump or youse screwed!" Morris taunted.

" Hell, youse screwed anyway!" Morris's buddy said with a sadistic chuckle.

" You bastards!" I screamed. " Youse never get away with this!" I had reached the top. There was no where else to run. No where else to hide. They had reached the same level as me. I curled against the wall, trying to protect myself from the coming attack. They towered over my frail

frame like the giants in the fairy tales my mother used to tell. The brass knuckles were raised, and they glimmered in the dim light of the alley.

" We already have." Morris' buddy said, and the knuckles made contact with my stomach. The twisted smirk of a man was the last thing I saw before everything. Went. Black.

* * *

><p>Bonk. Boink. Bonk. My head hit cool metal, again and again. The ladder tore the sleeves of my shirt to shreds. Someones hands on my feet pulled me roughly down the ladder, scraping up my arms. I closed my eyes again.<p>

* * *

><p>" Whatta we gonna do with it?" A voice asked, as if I were a stray dog they picked up from the streets.<p>

" Take 'em to the refuge." a deeper, scratchier voice responded. " What else?"

* * *

><p>I was back in Ireland. I was on the streets. I was on the steeps of the lodging house. I was soaring through the sky like a bird, high over the sticking city. I was the broken girl, climbing up the fire escape. I was the broken girl being punched by Morris and his cruel friend. I was just so, so tired. So tired.<p>

* * *

><p>" What happened to him?" A voice, this one much younger than before, but definity a boys asked.<p>

" Delancys. What else?" A different voice, still male responded.

" Poor fella." The first voice responded.

* * *

><p>Feet shuffled into the room, worn out and tired. A chorus of yawns were a sort of lullaby. Beds creaked, as boys crawled into them and fell asleep.<p>

" Do youse tink he'll eva wake up?" A voice, this one older, but still a teenager responded.

" Hey look, He's got some papes with him." A younger voice said. I felt my bag being lifted off my shoulders.

" Say, youse think he's one of Jacks boys?"

" Must be, he's in Manhattan ain't he?"

" Shut up and go to bed Nickel."

" 'Night Flicker."

" 'Night boys. Sleep well"

* * *

><p>" I tink he's dead." One of the voices from before said matter of factly.<p>

" Don't be such a pessimist, Blade." Another male voice responded.

" A pessa- what?" A sigh.

" Negative, Blade." Feet shuffed away from me, and I once again slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

><p>" Ise hate Snyder." The young voice said, anger behind his words.<p>

" We all do, but don't let him hear youse say 'll get a whippin' for sure." A voice warned.

* * *

><p>" Maybe we should ask Jack if dis is one of his boys." The young voice said quietly.<p>

" How? Youse got a carriage lying around?" The pessimistic boy responded.

" Don't be so hard on him Blade." The smart boy said.

" Shut up Nickel."

* * *

><p>" He's gonna have to eat at some point." A voice reasoned.<p>

" And even if he gets up he's not going to get any food. Let 'im sleep." Nickel responded lasily.

* * *

><p>For the first time since I got here, wherever here is, there was no sounds. Just silence. Just the sound of my breathing and my heart, and the occasional squeak from a mouse. The air was still and musty, and I could feel a slight draft on the exposed skin of my arm. And for once, I had the energy to slip my eyes open. My vision focussed, and I found myself staring into the eyes of a boy, barely ten, as broken as me.<p> 


End file.
